


Slipped Away

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Claire is 19, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Post-Divorce, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Novak is on a road trip to Los Angeles in search of what she lost as a child: her family. Suffering from nightmares of her father leaving her behind, Claire finds solace in a drifter named Dean Winchester, who is also running away from a past he cannot seem to escape. Together, they travel across the country, each in search of something to make them feel whole again. Perhaps, what they've been looking for is each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I started shipping Claire/Dean after the last episode of season 10. Yes, I know she's a minor, yes I know this ship is problematic, which is _why_ I have Claire of age in this fic, okay? Okay.

Walking down the road late at night was a stupid idea, but she was doing it anyway. The wind bit into her back as she pulled the hood of her sweater down around her head more firmly, kicking rocks down along the lonely road. The sound of a car made her glance back, her eyes tearing up from the sudden onslaught of overly bright headlights. A large black car rolled up beside her, but she kept walking, not wanting to indulge some creep tonight.

 

“You lost?” came a deep voice, making her pause, turn, and look. The guy in the front seat was handsome and not as old as she had assumed he would have been. She tended to attract the real male trash of the world. He had stubble along his jaw and he looked tired; the dark circles under his eyes made him look older than he probably really was.

 

“No, I’m fine,” Claire replied, turning to keep walking, but he was getting out of the car. She spun around, revealing the knife in her hand. “Don’t touch me, asshole.”

 

The guy held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. I wasn’t gonna touch you.”

 

“Then get back in the car and get lost, Hasselhoff.”

 

His face contorted into surprise, confusion, and then finally something else. Amusement? Recognition? “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Dean. What’s your name?” he asked slowly, still holding his hands up.

 

She frowned, daring to look him over slowly, even easing the knife down by her side, still holding it firmly in hand. “Claire. My name’s Claire.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Claire. Look, I don’t wanna be a creep, okay? But a young girl like you shouldn’t be walking all alone at night like this.” Dean turned to gesture at the car gently. “You want me to give you a place to stay for a few nights? Take you to wherever it is you’re goin’?”

 

Saying no would have been easier, but walking _all_ of the way to L.A. was probably _stupid_ , so she nodded in the end. “Sure.” If he made a move she’d just cut him, steal his keys, car, and take off. It would be that easy.

 

“Great.” Dean moved slowly, offering to take her bag, which she allowed, and he placed it in the trunk of his car. “Back or front, up to you.”

 

She rolled her eyes, her mind jumping to a sexual innuendo, since most guys _meant_ the sexual innuendo anyway. “I’ll sit up front, if you don’t mind.”

 

He shook his head and opened the door for her, which made her roll her eyes again, but at least he came off nice. “Not a problem.”

 

Dean climbed into the car and then they were on their way to God only knew where. Claire could only hope to a hotel or house with a real mattress. She was tired of sleeping on the ground.

 

“So, where are we going?” she asked, trying not to think dark thoughts. What if he _was_ a serial killer? What if he really was going to take her to the side of the road and rape her? She really had to stop trusting strangers.

 

“Hotel,” Dean replied, “but I’ll get a separate room, okay?”

 

“Wow,” she said out loud without meaning to. Slamming a hand over her mouth she stared at him in apology. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, most guys want in my pants and-.”

 

“You’re like, what? Eighteen? Maybe?” he asked with a shake of his head. “I ain’t about to sleep with a kid. I just want to help, that’s all. I know what it’s like, livin’ on the road, believe me, I get it.”

 

“I’m nineteen,” she said in slight defense. She always looked younger, which at times came in handy, but other times, did _not_.

 

“ _Whoa_ , one whole year attached to that,” he replied with a wink. The wink made her shiver and she wasn’t sure _why_ \- yes, Dean was handsome, but he could have also easily have been her _father_.

 

_There’s your problem_.

 

“Hey, one year makes a difference.”

 

Dean smirked and pulled the car into a cheap motel parking lot. She had seen worse, so she wasn’t about to complain. It wasn’t until he was about to get out of the car, that she grabbed his arm. “I don’t want a separate room... Just separate beds, okay? I mean...”

 

She was usually pretty tough; sleeping in rough areas didn’t usually freak her out, but being in a shady motel alone? It was too close to home in her opinion.

 

“I get it,” he replied with a nod. She released him and he slid out of the car, making his way inside. Sighing, Claire took a look around the car; it seemed loved, as if it were being taken care of by a man who viewed it as a person and not just a machine. Which was nice, she supposed, she had always liked good cars.

 

Dean eventually returned with a key and they trudged to the room, Claire carrying her bag over her shoulder, Dean doing the same with his own. She had a feeling he spent a lot of time on the road too, but she didn’t really want to pry.

 

“Tried to coerce the woman into giving us the best room with the best shower... Figure a lady deserves a decent shower.” A blush cascaded over Dean’s face and she smiled at that; He really was a gentleman.

 

“Thanks,” she said, setting her bag down on the bed. “Mind if I go first, then?”

 

“No, go ahead.” Dean gestured at the shower and then promptly turned away.

 

She rolled her eyes. Did he think she was going to strip _right here_? Jesus. Shaking her head, Claire fished the spare clothes out of her bag and carried them and her simple toiletries to the bathroom. He must have done some damn good coercing because not did the water come out _hot_ , but it came out in a full stream of pressure. She practically moaned at that; she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a decent shower.

 

“Hell _yeah_ ,” she sighed, sliding under the spray eagerly. It felt so good on her weary bones; she almost collapsed to the bottom to rest until it ran cold. But then she remembered Dean was in the other room, also probably wanting a shower. Men didn’t need as long of a shower as women did though she rationalized. Claire stayed beneath the stream of water until she was clean and her hair was detangled, shampooed, _and_ conditioned, and she had at least scrubbed her skin three times.

 

When she climbed out, her entire body was pink, and she realized in vain she didn’t have a towel. “Shit,” she whispered, daring to poke her head out of the door. “You got a towel by chance?”

 

Dean startled, his face turning red again, but he was getting up to dig around in his bag, pulling out a towel. “It’s clean, I just... I mean, I just did my, um... laundry.” He did not look at her, practically throwing the towel in her direction.

 

Claire tried not to laugh as she caught the towel and slid back into the bathroom to dry off. Even if he _said_ he didn’t want to have sex with her, he had probably considered it a few times. It was the curse of being pretty.

 

She took her time to dry off completely, allowing her hair to dry in the towel on top of her head, sitting naked on the toilet, resting. She didn’t realize how tired she was until she began to dream; jerking out of it, Claire finished drying her hair, pulled on some fresh clothes, and then carried herself and her stuff back out into the bedroom to crawl into bed.

 

Dean didn’t bother her and for that, she was eternally grateful. He even turned the light off when he went to the shower, leaving her to sleep. She smiled into the pillow and relaxed; glad to sift off into sleep. Now, if only he let her sleep in the following day.

 

xxx

 

Not only did he let her sleep in, but when she finally did wake up, there was breakfast waiting in the form of donuts. Mouth watering, Claire climbed out of the bed, stretching like a cat, to eagerly dig into the box. Dean wasn’t in the room and when she glanced out front she saw the car was gone. Frowning, she spun around in a circle until she found a note taped to the bathroom door. Smart.

 

_claire (i hope that’s right)_

 

_i’ll be back shortly, i just went to get the car filled with gas and grab some food for the road. enjoy the donuts._

 

_d_

 

A weird, fond smile filled her face as she stared at Dean’s note. The things he did were coming off endearing and she wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like they were going to be hanging out much longer. He’d take her to L.A. and then they would part ways. That was the plan anyway. Shaking herself, Claire crumpled up the note, tossed it into the wastebasket, and sat down to eat the donuts in bed. She would relish every moment in the bed until they had to leave the motel behind.

 

After sleeping on the ground and benches for so long, the hardest mattress on the planet would have felt like goose down, but this one really wasn’t that awful. It was actually very comfortable and the more she sunk into it, the more tired she grew. Soon, Claire was allowing her eyes to shut, and then she was drifting off to sleep again.

 

xxx

 

_“Daddy! Come back! Please!” Claire chases after her father down the never ending driveway, but he never grows any closer, nor does he come back. He doesn’t turn around, she just keeps running down the pavement, trying to catch up to him. She screams louder and louder, begging him to_ come back _. She would do anything for him to come back._

 

_He had promised her. He would never leave, he’d say. But he was leaving and she can’t catch up. Her legs are too short and he is too far away. It’s like swimming in the ocean and drifting far from shore. The harder she tries to run, the further she seems to drift from him. Soon, his visage becomes so small, she can’t even see him anymore, and then he’s gone._

 

_She screams. She begs._

 

_He doesn’t come back._

 

xxx

 

“Claire! Claire, wake up!!”

 

Claire woke up with a pained scream, clutching at the blanket around her. Dean was staring at her with wide eyes, his hand braced along her shoulder, the other along the mattress. She gasped, tears streaking down her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and his face shifted from concern to pain. “I’m _sorry_.”

 

“Shhh,” he whispered, easing down onto the mattress, opening his arms. Sliding into his embrace was a lot easier now that she was alone and afraid. “It was just a bad dream,” he told her quietly. “I get them, too.”

 

“You do?” she asked brokenly, pressing her face into his chest. He smelled of cologne, leather, and something else. Gunpowder? Smoke? Something woodsy. Dangerous.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone slightly clipped. “All the time.”

 

Once again she apologized, but this time, she understood his pain. Nightmares were not easy to shake. Especially not the ones she kept having. Ever since her father had left them, she had been having awful dreams about it. They varied, but it was always the same in the end; he was gone and he didn’t come back. She missed him, even though it had been six years ago.

 

He gave her a gentle squeeze and then let go. She almost chased him for another hug, but she held herself back. They didn’t know each other well enough for something like that.

 

“You want to get out of here, or do you want to hang out some more?” he asked. She was glad for the change of subject.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

He nodded and stood, gathering up their belongings. They didn’t say anything else; Dean packed up his stuff, she packed up hers, and then he was making sure they checked out okay. She sat in the car, staring out the front window tiredly. Nightmares always made her _more_ tired, no matter how much she didn’t want to fall asleep again.

 

When Dean climbed into the car, she looked over at him. What was he running from? They were so similar - she and Dean. She had run away from her family and her father leaving them. But what was Dean running away from?

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah?” He was turned, backing out of the parking lot one handed.

 

“What do you have nightmares about?” she dared to ask. He looked at her; his eyes spoke of something dark, something he couldn’t escape. He was haunted.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

They stayed in silence for a while after.

 

xxx

 

“So, where exactly am I taking you anyway?” Dean asked when they pulled over to grab something to eat. They had stopped at a diner. It was strange, letting an older man buy her dinner, but it was also funny when the waitress confused them for father and daughter. Neither of them had bothered to correct her.

 

“L.A.” she replied, picking up a fry to take a bite out of.

 

“Los Angeles, huh?” he asked, a thoughtful glance passing over his face. “Why?”

 

“Why not?”

 

He nodded in acquiescence. “It’s just... It seems _so_ not your jam.”

 

“Did you just say ‘my jam’?” she asked with a laugh. “Oh my God, you are _too_ told to be saying ‘my jam’.”

 

“Hey, I’m not a dinosaur yet,” he snapped back. “I’m only thirty-six. Cut me some slack.”

 

“Eh, that’s enough of a dinosaur for me,” she joked with a smile. He rolled his eyes as a response. “Almost as old as my dad.”

 

“Ugh, don’t say that, that just makes this creepy, and I’m still under the guise of I’m being nice and not a creep.” Dean shoved his plate away, clearly unnerved.

 

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

He shook his head. “I’m gonna hit the head, be back in a sec.”

 

Dean left and Claire continued to pick at her food. Making him feel bad hadn’t really been her plan; he really wasn’t a creep and he didn’t really _act_ old. To Claire, acting old was what made people old, not the number attached to their age. She’d have to tell him that when he came back. The waitress returned, wanting to know if either of them wanted dessert.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, sorry,” she replied with an embarrassed smile.

 

“It’s so cute, you and your father going on a father-daughter date.”

 

Claire wanted to say, _he’s not my father_ , but that would probably end with a phone call to the cops, and neither of them had time for those losers. She just smiled and nodded, continuing to eat her fries. Eventually, Dean returned, sinking back down in front of her, and Claire stared at him, until he grew aware of it.

 

“What? Something on my face?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, your face,” she replied smartly which made him give one of those ‘I am so done with you’ faces. “No, but,” she cleared her throat and quickly faked their waitress’ voice, “’It’s so cute that my father is taking me out to dinner on a father-daughter date’.”

 

“Not funny,” he said firmly.

 

She laughed, almost spitting out bits of fry in a very unladylike manner. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with both hands.

 

“Classy.”

 

“Says the guy with his fly undone.”

 

He jumped and glanced down at his lap, which made her laugh so hard, she almost fell out of the booth. “ _Also_ not funny.”

 

“Hey, you walked into that one.”

 

Dean shook his head and then their waitress returned. Claire glanced up at her nametag. Denice. She _would_ be a Denice.

 

“Dessert, you two?” she asked with a wide smile.

 

“Hell yeah,” Dean replied with a nod. “I will take a huge slice of pecan pie, if you got it.”

 

“You’re just in luck, we got some the other day,” Denice said with a wink, turning to look at Claire. “And for you, Dear?”

 

“Um, vanilla ice cream?”

 

“Sure thing. Be right back.” Denice scurried off, taking their empty plates with her.

 

“So, you were saying L.A.” Dean said, drawing Claire back to the situation. “I really am curious. Why?”

 

She shrugged. “I dunno. Just seems like the right place to be, I guess.”

 

“Any particular place in L.A.?”

 

“Nope... Just L.A.”

 

“Okay.” Dean shrugged. “L.A. is a while from here, you know that right?”

 

“Look, if you want me to help pay for gas money-.”

 

He held up his hand to stop her. “It’s not that, I’m just saying you may get sick of me by the time we get there.”

 

Claire smiled a little. “Doubt it.” She wasn’t sure what made her say _that_ , but when she did, he blushed. Dean’s blush was ridiculously nice to watch. It made the freckles on his cheeks stand out more.

 

“Shut up,” he replied quietly as the dessert was brought to the table for their enjoyment. She did, a smile still on her face.

 

xxx

 

Claire jerked awake when the car hit a bump in the road. Dean cursed and then apologized, not meaning to wake her. The road was ridiculously bumpy but there was something wrong; she could feel it in the way Dean kept trying to steer the car from going off the road. His teeth were gritted so hard together, she could see the strain in his neck and jaw.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know!” he snapped angrily and she recoiled from his lashing. “Son of a bitch!”

 

Finally, the car slowed to a stop and Dean got out, slamming the door shut with enough rage to make her feel afraid. Of course, Dean had a serious love affair with his car, so she wasn’t completely surprised by his anger at this betrayal.

 

The sky was gray and Claire had a feeling it would rain soon. She climbed out of the car anyway, wrapping her black jacket around her waist, and going to stand off to the side to watch him. He continued to utter strings of curse words as he dug around in the engine for the source of the issue.

 

“It felt like your power steering went.”

 

Dean glanced over at her and said nothing, instead staring down at the engine helplessly. The sky opened up then and the rain began to fall and Dean angrily allowed the hood to drop shut, leaning heavily against the car. Claire watched him trail his hand over the hood of the car, his fingers digging at it slightly, as if he were in pain. The state of his car reflected Dean’s mindset; she picked up on that quickly.

 

“Do you want me to call someone?” she asked over the roaring rain. Standing outside to get soaked was stupid on both of their parts, but she didn’t want to leave his side either.

 

Still, Dean said nothing, climbing back in the car instead. Groaning, Claire followed suit, shivering with cold. He turned the car back on and blasted the heat as he removed his phone from his inner pocket to call a tow company. When he hung up, she tried not to stare at him, but she wanted to know how long they would have to wait.

 

“They say how long?” she asked.

 

“You don’t stop asking questions, do you?” he retorted.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He sighed and pressed his palms to his eyes. They sat in silence after and Claire sighed, leaning against the door, pressing her head to the window. The heat did nothing for her shivering, and Dean’s anger was putting her in a bad mood. It wasn’t as if _she_ had fucked up his car. Of course, he was probably _blaming_ her since it wasn’t until her addition in his life that things started going wrong with the car.

 

He’d probably ask her to leave soon.

 

Claire shut her eyes and tried not to start crying. Maybe it was stupid to assume so quickly, but that did not stop her from doing so anyway. Her body continued to stay cold and she shivered so much it made her teeth chatter. When a heavy weight was placed over her side, Claire jerked and turned. Dean held up his hands, just like he had their first meeting together. The leather jacket he wore was resting over her frame.

 

“You were shivering,” he replied as if that explained everything.

 

“I’m cold,” she replied.

 

“Well,” he gestured at the jacket, “there you go.”

 

“You gonna kick me out? Because if you are, I’d rather just leave now.”

 

“Why would I kick you out?”

 

“Because it wasn’t until I showed that shit started to go wrong, I’m sure-.”

 

Dean snorted and shook his head, which made her pause. “Claire, it’s not your fault my car is acting up. I’m not gonna blame you for that... I’m sorry I snapped, I just- when she gets hurt, I get concerned is all.”

 

“You do know she’s not a real person, right?” Maybe he was a psycho after all; one of those people who had sex with their cars.

 

Dean patted the steering wheel. “She didn’t mean it, Baby, we both know you get hurt and sick sometimes.”

 

Claire shook her head in wonder. “You’re crazy.”

 

“Hey, my car is my number two priority, okay? Nothing wrong with that.” Dean sank back against his seat, shutting his eyes then. “May as well take a nap, we got a while to wait.”

 

_Number two priority_. What was the first? Her?

 

Claire almost laughed at _that_ asinine thought, but she held her tongue and shut her eyes instead. Under his jacket and with the heat blasting, her body began to warm up. The jacket felt good, comforting even. When she began to fall asleep, Claire figured there would be no nightmares this time.

 

xxx

 

_A grocery aisle._

 

_There are brightly colored packages all along on either side. Cookies. Chips. Soda. Candy. Snack food; the kinds of food her mother had never been fond of, but her father had always indulged her when at the store. It had been their little secret._

 

_The number of the aisle is too blurry and she can’t read it._

 

_Up ahead, a man in a tan trench coat appears. She gasps aloud. “Daddy!” she calls. “Daddy, it’s me!”_

 

_He doesn’t turn around to face her instead he keeps walking away, down the aisle that does not seem to end. Claire screams and starts to run. Her legs burn with the effort, but she only tries to speed up, even though her heart is screaming for her to stop. To take a breath. She can’t stop. She just keeps running, even when her heart is beating so fast she can hardly breathe._

 

_“Daddy, please! Come back! Come back!” she sobs the last scream, falling to her knees in the middle of the aisle. He just keeps walking and she hugs her middle, sobbing pathetically for her father to come back._

 

_Why did he leave? Why can’t he come back? Why? Why? Whywhwhywhywhywhywhy-_

 

xxx

 

“Hey!”

 

Claire jumped and sat herself upright when Dean nudged her. “What?” she gasped, wiping her face angrily when she felt the tears.

 

“It’s time to go,” Dean replied, not bothering to comment on the crying, which made her want to hug him in thanks. “C’mon. Get your stuff.”

 

Nodding, Claire opened the door and retrieved her bag from the trunk, where Dean was digging around for some stuff. The tow guy was hooking up the car so he could but it on the back of his truck. Dean slid up beside her, lying his hand on her back, leading her up to the truck.

 

“Go inside,” he muttered in her ear as he opened the door. She nodded and climbed up, sitting down in the middle, hugging her bag to her chest. She watched Dean in the rearview mirror talking to the guy; he was a lot older than Dean, with a salt and pepper beard and blue baseball cap. The paper on the seat next to her read _Singer Auto_.

 

Dean stood off to the side, supervising as his car was put up on the truck, looking on like a concerned parent. It made her snort and she had to look away when he finally began to walk over to the truck, ready to climb up beside her. The tow guy climbed into the truck and Dean did too, sliding in next to her. There wasn’t much room for all of them, so her thigh was pressed up against Dean’s, even though he appeared to be attempting to cram himself into the corner of the truck.

 

“Thanks for your help,” Dean told the guy, who nodded, claiming it was ‘his job’.

 

“Names Bobby,” the guy told her. “You his kid?”

 

Claire opened her mouth to answer but she was still unsure whether or not to claim Dean as her father; if she did, it would probably make them both feel creepy. So,s he shook her head. “No.”

 

Bobby looked them over then, at the way their legs touched, how she was still wearing Dean’s coat. The man frowned and shook his head. “S’pose it ain’t my business.”

 

“I’m legal,” she said quickly, not wanting Bobby to get the wrong idea. “I’m nineteen. Dean’s just helping me out, that’s all.”

 

“Well, I was until the damn car quit workin’ on me,” Dean snarled angrily, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“We’ll take a look at her when we get back,” Bobby replied.

 

Claire didn’t speak again, instead staring out the front window as they drove back the way they had come toward the garage. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that they were going backward rather than forward, but it was still frustrating. The inside of the truck made her look around. There was a cross hanging off of the mirror, even though Bobby didn’t really strike her as a religious man. Some snack wrappers were strewn along the floor, the radio was off, but instead of a CD player there was an old cassette player in the tow truck. Which explained the old cassettes lying beneath her feet; she tried not to step on one.

 

It smelled a little like salt and a lot like smoke in the truck; similar to Dean’s smell. It wasn’t cigarette smoke it was something else. Like the way a gun would smell, she assumed. She’d never smelled gunpowder before, but it seemed right. When they ran over a bump, Bobby muttered an apology and Claire reached out and snatched onto Dean’s thigh to keep from falling over. His hand steadied her by lying on her back. They glanced at one another and quickly, Claire pulled her hand from his leg, feeling too intimate for such a small space.

 

_He could_ be _your father. Calm down. Jesus, Claire._

 

Claire shook her head and she would be glad when they got out of the truck, since she was suddenly acutely aware of Dean’s smell. His shampoo - plain and simple, probably whatever he stole from hotels. His cologne - something woodsy and dark, but pleasant. The smoky smell. She had still yet to check his bag to see if he carried a gun or not. She was also aware of how solid he felt, pressed up against his side the way she was crammed in the cab. Dean was all muscle. He was nothing like the boys from the group home. Not even by a long shot.

 

Finally, they were pulling into the garage’s parking lot and Dean climbed out, turning to offer his hand and help her down. As soon as she was on solid ground, she pulled out of his grip and took a step back. The smell of rain filled her nostrils - the wet earth, the dirt, the odor of fish. It helped clear her head.

 

“Claire, you coming?” Dean asked as he began to walk inside.

 

Startling, Claire nodded and followed him inside. She spotted the restroom and made a beeline for it. It was a single stall, so she opened and shut the door firmly, turning the lock to occupied. A few deep breaths later, Claire found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror, wishing her body would stop feeling hot and bothered. She couldn’t think of Dean in that way; it was creepy, wrong, weird, and whatever else it was, it wasn’t _right_.

 

She shut her eyes and imagined him lying on top of her anyway. The way the weight of his solid frame would feel; how _big_ he probably was, and how that hefty weight would feel inside of her. Grounding her person. A hot blush crept up from under her sweater and up into her cheeks and she gripped the white, enamel sink helplessly. This was not the place to become horny, but she had no choice but to splash her face with cold water, and go back and sit beside Dean in a chair.

 

He looked over at her but said nothing, and Claire squeezed her thighs together, trying to make the heat stop. But her body had other thoughts in mind and she couldn’t stop feeling warm and there was definitely a bit of wet finding its way to her panties. She could feel it and it only made it all so much fucking worse.

 

“You okay?” Dean asked then, making her jump. “You look flushed. You sick?”

 

_Yes_ , she wanted to say. _I’m so fucking sick_. But she shook her head and waved a hand in front of her face. “Just hot, it’s hot in here.”

 

“You need some air-.” He didn’t get to finish her question because she was getting up and walking outside. “Claire?!”

 

The cooler air hit in her in the face and she gasped a few times, trying to relax. A man hadn’t made her become so bothered in a long time; not since the counselor at the last group home she had been at, which had been over a year ago.

 

 

The guy had made her feel _extremely_ horny every time she was in a room with him. The worst part had been the way he’d looked at her, as if he had known her darkest, innermost fantasies.

 

“Claire?”

 

“I’m fine!” she insisted, turning to face him with a fake smile. “I’m fine, honest.”

 

He frowned and tilted his head to the side. He didn’t believe her. “Claire, if you need to lie down or something, we can call a cab, get a room... Who knows how long it’ll be before they fix Baby.”

 

A room. Privacy. “Sounds perfect,” she gasped.

 

He nodded and made his way back inside. Claire spun around in a circle, trying not to think on her past experiences with older men. She’d had sex with Tom; they’d fucked in a closet in the hallway. He had been her first. The way he’d fingered her, until she had been gasping, her body aching for _more_. He’d made her come and then he’d fucked her so hard she’d been in tears from the orgasm she’d had afterward.

 

Unfortunately, they’d been caught, and Tom had been fired. She’d been put in isolation. After that, she’d run away, taken off into the night. They’d found her eventually, but finally she’d turned eighteen and been cut loose. That had been the start of her journey. She’d slept with a few guys after Tom; the clerk at a gas station, _way_ too old for her, but he’d offered up free food for sex, so she’d agreed. The hotel concierge had received a blowjob in return for a free room.

 

And now she was starting to think of Dean that way.

 

“Fuck,” she whispered, running her hands through her hair, ready to pull strands out. She stayed outside while they waited for a cab, not wanting to be near Dean for a while. The cold air and a cigarette helped her calm down, but there was still a throbbing between her legs. As soon as she was alone in the motel, she’d take care of it.

 

The cab pulled up fifteen minutes later. Dean waved to Bobby and then they were both climbing in. Claire pressed against the door, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Dean asked for the closest hotel; _something nice_ , he said. That made her blush and she wasn’t even sure why. Did he know? Had he guessed? Were they going to fuck in a clean bed?

 

_Don’t be stupid. He probably just wants a nice rest too._

 

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked, his voice so concerned. It made guilt eat at her.

 

“Yeah. I’m just feeling a little sick, I think I need to lay down.”

 

“Well, we’ll be there soon.” Dean gave her a small smile and she returned it with a weak one of her own.

 

They were pulling up outside of a fairly nice hotel; it wasn’t the St. Regis, but it was definitely nice. Claire didn’t ask him how they were going to afford it she just followed Dean inside. They both looked underdressed and both of them were still somewhat damp from the weather. Dean made his way up to the front desk, while Claire hung back, not wanting to give the concierge too many bold ideas.

 

There were nice paintings on the wall; they weren’t _of_ anything, just abstract blobs of paint, but they were still nice somehow. The furniture was plush in the lobby and there were people coming and going all over the place; it was clearly a busy hotel. Eventually, Claire sat down on a chair and waited for Dean, her eyes falling on the complimentary coffee. She stood and walked over to get a cup, glad for the hot liquid; maybe it would let her forget about Dean. But then she felt him join her and she almost spilled it all over her shirt.

 

“Hey, ready?”

 

“Yeah.” Setting the coffee down, Claire followed Dean to the elevator.

 

“You can have dibs on the shower if you want.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They both stayed quiet after and Claire was glad. She didn’t need him playing twenty questions right now or she was liable to spill the beans on her attraction to him. That would end their road trip for sure. They were up on the fifteenth floor and Dean led the way to the room. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was the nicest room she’d ever been in. The beds were plush and white, looking as soft as a cloud. There was a TV on a stand across from the beds and the bathroom was bigger than she’d imagined. There was a huge bathtub.

 

“Score,” she whispered, rushing into the bathroom and locking the door. Breathing felt easier now that she wasn’t around Dean, but that didn’t make the heat stop.

 

“Claire?” Dean called through the door as she began to undress, pausing at her bra.

 

“Yeah?” she asked tentatively, reaching around to unhook it, still holding it to her chest. Part of her wanted him to ask if he could join her; she would have said yes in a heartbeat.

 

“I’m gonna go on a snack run. There’s a few places nearby, you want anything?”

 

“Um, yeah, get me some candy or something? I like gummies.”

 

“No problem.” The sound of the door opening and closing made her relax. He was gone. She could take her time and relax.

 

Claire sighed and allowed her bra to fall to the ground, stepping out of her jeans and panties. When she slid a hand between her legs, the amount of wet made her blush, but she could tell her panties were soaked. They would need washed as soon as possible.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she whimpered, biting her bottom lip as she felt between her lips, teasing a finger against her entrance. Her sex was hot and soaked; she needed release. Legs shaking, Claire walked over and got the tub running, waiting until it was halfway full before sinking in. A moan escaped her at the amazing feeling of the hot water.

 

It was almost as good as sex. Almost.

 

She slid down until her chin was touching the surface of the water, allowing her legs to fall apart. She cupped herself and carefully slid two fingers inside, biting her lip again at the feeling. It had been a while since she’d had a chance to do this. She imagined Dean lying her on the bed, parting her legs, his rough fingers rubbing her sex gently; he was so kind, he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want.

 

He’d open her up slowly. Take his time, feeling her all over. His thumb would rub her clit until she was left panting, but he wouldn’t let her come yet. Claire gasped, rubbing her clit in slow circles; it was already so hard she was surprised she didn’t just come uncontrollably, but she held back, forcing her orgasm to stave itself.

 

Arching underwater, Claire cried out, starting to finger herself faster, making the water splash. He would finger her quickly when she felt as if she hadn’t had _quite_ enough. His cock would be so hard, she’d reach down and wrap a hand around him, jerking him as fast as he fingered her; matching him pace for pace. They’d be panting and breathing hard together, staring at each other’s faces. He’d probably snarl at her, manly, and sexy as he was.

 

“Fuck,” she gasped again, sitting up to reach deeper. Her toes curled along the bottom of the tub in desperation. “ _Fuck_!” Her voice rose several octaves as she started to moan and cry out without abandon; if Dean returned to hear her, he would _know_ , but she didn’t care.

 

Claire shifted to her knees, her other hand reaching up to cup one of her breasts, squeezing it firmly as she fingered herself. Her moans grew louder as she imagined Dean rolling her over onto her stomach, pulling her hips up and teasing the head of his cock against her entrance. She’d beg him to do it; she _wanted_ him to fuck her. He’d push in and stretch her more than any other guy had done so previously; he’d fuck her slow at first, taking his time to open her up.

 

But it wouldn’t be long before he was fucking her hard and fast into the mattress, swearing, and digging into the mattress.

 

The heat was building in her stomach and Claire could feel her body tightening, ready to push her fingers out. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, rubbing her clit fast for the finish. Dean would come inside of her just as she did, filling her up completely. She called Dean’s name when she came, squeezing her fingers hard, pushing them out of her body completely. She had to grasp onto the tub’s side to keep from slipping under the water from her body jerking in the aftershocks.

 

Her breathing came in labored and she imagined Dean kissing her; kissing her slow and eagerly, his tongue pressing into her mouth. He’d be so damn gentle. Even as she would hungrily kiss him back, trying to urge him to be rougher, but, no, he’d take his time. He wouldn’t rush. Eventually, she’d melt against his body, and he’d stay inside of her while they snoozed the rest of the afternoon together. They’d fuck the rest of the night, on and off, until she was so full of his cum, she’d leak all over the sheets.

 

Claire sighed, slowly easing back in the water to relax. Her hands idly rubbed along her sides, hips, legs, and breasts after. It felt good, especially when she imagined her hands were Dean’s; his were so much bigger than hers, and rougher, full of callouses, but he’d somehow stay gentle throughout. Dean was a good guy.

 

She stayed in the bath until he returned. He called to her and finally Claire drained the tub and dried off. She had one more change of underwear. The only things she had left to wear was a tank top. Biting her lip, Claire pulled the thin piece of fabric over her chest, blushing when she could see her nipples clearly through the shirt.

 

“Hey Dean?” she called, trying to sound embarrassed rather than eager to tempt him.

 

“Yeah?” he asked.

 

“You got an extra shirt I can wear? Mine’s kind of, um... see through.” She heard a loud thump and she had to slam a hand over her mouth so as not to laugh.

 

“Um, yeah, just- just a sec-.” He cursed and there was another thump. Finally, Dean knocked and Claire opened the door all of the way, wanting him to stare. It was wrong, she knew, but she did it anyway. His eyes fell immediately to her chest, where her breasts were basically on clear display. His jaw hung open uselessly.

 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, accepting the shirt and then shutting the door in his face. She had a feeling it would be his turn to take a long ass time in the shower.

 

xxx

 

There was nothing good on the television she realized while Dean took a shower later that night. He had left her after the tank top incident, claiming he needed to take a walk. He’d come home smelling a bit of alcohol, but she could tell he wasn’t drunk. He also had returned with a buttload of cash; apparently, Dean hustled pool to help fill in financial gaps. She was definitely impressed.

 

Now, Dean was in the shower, taking his time. It was hilarious but it was also frustrating thinking of Dean jerking off. Mainly because she was sure he was _hot_ while he pleasured himself. Claire shook her head, banishing the thoughts away. She could _not_ have sex with Dean; he was just trying to help her, they were not going to hook up. That would just make things awkward.

 

So, when Dean returned from the shower, she sat up. “Hey, look, I’m really sorry about earlier. I don’t know what came over me, I wasn’t really being myself. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

 

He glanced over at her as he eased down onto his own bed face first. He looked exhausted, like he would need a few days to recover from his shower excursion. “S’okay,” he muttered. “Mind if we turn the lights off?”

 

“Oh, yeah, hold on.” Claire slid out of bed and walked over to shut off the lights, her eyes falling onto him when she turned back to the beds. He really was tired, it wasn’t long before she could hear his breathing change. Either he had fallen asleep or he was damn good at faking it.

 

Claire made her way over to her own bed and stretched out on it, relishing in the comfort. It was by far the best bed she’d ever slept on. Of course, now that she was lying there, she couldn’t sleep. She was half tempted to rub her clit to orgasm again, just to help make her sleepy, but that would be at great risk. Dean could wake up and catch her and _that_ would be awkward to explain. Especially after the shower thing earlier.

 

_I really fucked that up. That was_ so _dumb. Shit._ Claire chastised herself as she rolled her back to Dean, trying to focus on falling asleep, even if she had nightmares. It would be better than sitting up and fantasizing about Dean sleeping with her. Chewing on her bottom lip, Claire finally slid a hand down her underwear, and rubbed her clit, her eyes shut, breathing coming in harder as she grew close.

 

It was quick, but she moaned once into the pillow at the height of orgasm. Soon, her body felt tired, and she was able to drift to sleep.

 

xxx

 

For once, it wasn’t a nightmare that woke her up, nor her own screaming. It was something else. It took a moment to register, but finally Claire rolled her and looked at Dean. He was writhing on the bed and saying _no_. Her eyes widened as she realized _Dean_ was having a nightmare. She reached over to flip the lamp that rested between them on, flinging the blanket off.

 

“Dean? Dean wake up!”

 

He continued to writhe. In the weak light, Claire could see he was sweating profusely, the duvet cover was soaked, and so was he. She reached over and shook his shoulder, and then his hand was coming up and latching onto her throat, his eyes open, and wild. She gasped as he squeezed, panic filling her stomach. Squeezing his wrist didn’t help, so she slapped his face and chest a few times, until finally, he registered and yanked his hand away, sitting up with a gasp.

 

Claire fell back, her hand reaching up to touch where he’d choked her. She could feel the skin bruising. Dean stared at her, looking lost and afraid. Like a little boy. She swallowed and slowly stood, her legs shaking.

 

“You were having a bad dream,” she whispered.

 

Dean continued to breathe heavily, still looking lost and fearful. Apologies fell from his lips like little prayers.

 

“It’s okay,” she told him, not wanting to make him upset. “You didn’t mean to...”

 

“I didn’t- I didn’t-.” He cut off and stood, stumbling for the bathroom. The sound of him vomiting made her curl her arms around her knees. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he’d squeezed so hard, there would surely be marks in the morning. An ugly reminder.

 

“Dean?” she called when he grew quiet. “Are you okay?”

 

Dean returned, looking haunted and tired. He probably hadn’t really slept at all. “I’m sorry,” he managed quietly. “Next time, don’t wake me up.”

 

“Okay,” she whispered, tears stinging along her eyes. Dean slid back into the soaked bed, his body visibly shaking. Claire settled back down on her own bed, shutting her eyes tightly.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

She woke up to Dean shaking her. Gasping, Claire rolled over to face him, her eyes wide, and her hand flying to her neck out of self preservation. All of a sudden, she wished she had her knife on hand.

 

“Hey...” Dean trailed off and gave her the guiltiest stare. “About last night... I’m so sorry. I- I get real... aggressive when I get woken up. I’m _very_ sorry.”

 

She nodded, swallowing, or trying to; her mouth was so dry she could hardly produce anything _to_ swallow. “It’s okay,” she rasped, staring up at him, hoping she didn’t look as afraid as she felt, but from the look on his face, she knew she did.

 

“It’s not, but thanks anyway.” Dean took a step back. He was dressed. “I’m gonna go get us breakfast. Do you want to come with me or would you rather stay here?”

 

She glanced around the room. They weren’t leaving yet. It was then that she remembered they were waiting on the car, so of course they weren’t leaving yet. It would probably be good to get out into the air, to step away from the room. It felt so toxic along her skin; the air was too thick to breathe.

 

“Yeah, I’ll come with you. Just, let me get dressed.”

 

He nodded. “I’ll be in the lobby.”

 

“Okay.” She watched him go, her eyes trailing after him. His bag was still on the bed, so she jumped over to dig through it. Underneath all of his clothing was indeed a gun; a 9mm from the looks of it. A simple handgun. Suddenly, Claire felt glad he didn’t sleep with it in his hand.

 

She took a moment to dig through her bag; all of her clothes were dirty, but she pulled on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and her black jacket anyway. The old converse she had were falling apart; there were holes in them, and they were still soaked from yesterday. _Should have put them on the heater._ Sighing, Claire checked her hair, tried to smudge her leftover makeup into place, and then walked out of the room to go downstairs.

 

Dean waited for her like he said, and together, they made their way out of the hotel and down the busy street. Neither of them said anything. He walked on the outside of the sidewalk, making sure to keep her away from the street. It must have been a _man_ thing. She kept her hands in her pockets, her fingers cold and shaky.

 

“What do you like to eat for breakfast?” he asked suddenly, making her glance over at him.

 

“Um, I’m pretty down for anything.” She shrugged and then ducked her head back down at her shoes. “Why?”

 

“Just curious,” he replied with a light shrug. “I mean, I’d hate to take you someplace you hated, ya know?”

 

“Right.”

 

The awkward silence returned and Claire felt choked, which was probably a terrible metaphor in the moment. Cold fingertips reached up to touch where he had squeezed; the flesh felt tender and sore. He caught her touching her neck and she could see his guilt. It was so damn apparent.

 

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you, I want you to know that.”

 

She nodded and dropped her hands, shoving them into the pockets of her jacket. “I know you didn’t.”

 

“Good.” They paused outside of a place called _Marie’s_. The smell wafting from the front door made her mouth water. “Here good?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

Dean nodded and stepped around her to open the door, laying his hand on her lower back to usher her inside. She almost pulled away, but she didn’t want him to feel worse, so she stayed within his touch. She _knew_ he hadn’t meant to hurt her; he was just trying to help, and it wasn’t his fault he had had a terrible nightmare. Again, her mind wandered to _what_ Dean dreamt about.

 

What would make him almost choke her?

 

Something awful must have happened to him. Something worse than her dad taking off in the middle of the night.

 

“What can I get y’all?” their waitress asked as soon as they were seated.

 

“Cup of coffee,” Dean replied gruffly, his eyes roaming over the menu.

 

“Cream and sugar?”

 

“Yeah, on the side, thanks.”

 

Claire kept staring at Dean, not even realizing she was doing it, until she heard her name come out of his mouth. “What?” she asked. Dean nodded to the waitress and she blushed. “Oh, um, soda. Coke. If you have it.”

 

“Sure thing, Sugar.”

 

Their waitress walked off, a bounce to her step, and Claire quickly ducked her head again. It wasn’t polite to stare.

 

“You want to know what I was dreaming about,” Dean said. It wasn’t a question.

 

She glanced up at him again, biting her lower lip. “Yeah,” she whispered.

 

Dean sighed, setting the menu aside, and lacing his fingers together on the table. “I dream about lots of shit... But, um,” he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I had a little brother.”

 

“Had?”

 

“He’s dead.”

 

Her jaw fell open. “Oh my God. Dean, I’m so sorry-.”

 

He shook his head and shrugged a little. “Been like... ten years or something like that.”

 

“But... _still_. What happened?” she dared to ask, feeling her heart break for him. She could tell he was by no means an open book; he did not like to share, but here he was, sharing his personal story with _her_. A girl he had picked up on the side of the road.

 

Now she was _really_ feeling guilty for fantasizing about him.

 

Dean sighed again, ready to jump into the story, but it was then that their waitress returned, setting their drinks down in front of them. Dean startled and sat back, looking at the menu again. The moment was over; she had a feeling he wouldn't be willing to open up again. Not for a while at least.

 

“Decided what you want?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take the Gut Buster breakfast. I’m starvin’.” He offered up a charming smile that made the woman titter.

 

Claire stared at him; taking him in like deep breaths. Dean Winchester was beautiful and not just in the physical sense; yes, he was _beautiful_ \- with his green eyes that sometimes resembled amber whiskey, delicate features, freckles, and long eyelashes. No, he was beautiful in other senses too; he was kind, genuine, he would _fight_ for her, and she had no idea why. What had she done to earn his loyalty?

 

“Nothing,” she whispered.

 

“What was that, dear?”

 

Dean frowned, raising an eyebrow at her. “Thought you said you were hungry.”

 

Claire shook her head, jumping out of her reverie. “Right, sorry. I spaced... Um, I’ll take a waffle and some sausage... and hashbrowns. Please.”

 

“Sure thing, Sweetheart. I’ll put those in for you right now.” She took their menus and then they were alone again. Claire decided not to ask about Dean’s brother again.

 

xxx

 

“ _How_ long?”

 

Claire followed Dean’s movements with her eyes, sitting on the bed, and popping candies in her mouth. He was pacing the room in his frustration. The garage had not been quick to get back to him and he had been in a bad mood for days. Part of her found Dean’s anger amusing, especially since it was over a _car_ , but the other part of her understood. The longer the car stayed in the garage, the longer they had to pay for this damn room.

 

“Okay, whatever, fine... Thanks.” Dean hung up aggressively, pressing the phone to his forehead as he went to stare out the window. Claire popped another candy in her mouth.

 

“So, how long?”

 

Dean turned to face her, dropping his arm back down to his side. “Too long.”

 

“That isn’t really an answer.”

 

“At least a week.” Dean sighed and walked over to sit on his bed, flopping on his back. She tried not to stare between his legs, but she was definitely eating slower, taking him in hungrily. When he started to sit up, she jerked her gaze away, pretending to stare at the TV, which was still on mute.

 

“Sorry,” he said.

 

“For what?”

 

“Putting off your trip for a week, that sucks.”

 

She licked her lips and looked over to roam her eyes along his body again. He looked too good in his stupid plaid shirt. “I don’t mind... I mean, I do, but at the same time,” she shrugged a shoulder, “what can we do about it?”

 

Dean ran his hands over his face and shifted to sit on the bed, grabbing the TV controller to unmute the TV. It was stupid, but she imagined what they could do for a week straight, and it definitely involved no clothes. But she couldn’t ask him for sex; she couldn’t even ask him to kiss her. He’d never go for it, and for some reason, that made him even worse (better).

 

“So, what do you want to do?” she asked. “We can find _something_ to do, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh, you don’t want to watch bullshit hotel TV for seven days in a row?” he asked dryly.

 

She smirked and stood, walking over to sit on the bed beside him. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

 

“And what _do_ you have in mind?”

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a low voice. Her mind kept jumping to sex, but she wasn’t going to ask him for sex. Not unless she was drunk; then maybe she’d accidentally let it slip that she thought about him naked. Touching her.

 

Fuck. She had to get up and away from him.

 

“You okay?” he asked, sitting forward when she stood and walked over to stare out the window.

 

“Yeah, sorry-.”

 

“You still haven’t told me why L.A.”

 

“You still haven’t told me what happened to your brother.”

 

That shut him up; it shut them both up. The silence wafted over the room like a thick blanket, ready to suffocate them both if they made any sudden movements.

 

“We could go shopping,” he said so suddenly that it made her blink in surprise. That sentence was not meant to come out of his mouth; it sounded wrong.

 

“Shopping?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrows. He shrugged and stared at the bedspread, his arms folded over his chest. It was then she realized he was _trying_ ; he was trying to make up for being stoic, for choking her, for the car, for everything. It made a stupid amount of warm, fuzzy tingles fill her chest.

 

Damn him.

 

“Okay,” she said slowly, “but with what money?” The smile that filled his face piqued her interest.

 

xxx

 

“So, you hustle pool... but... you’re loaded?” she asked, staring at the cash he had stuffed into an envelope from the ATM.

 

He shrugged. “ _I’m_ not loaded,” he replied quietly, his hand going to her back and walking them briskly away.

 

The words sunk in after a moment and she gasped. “Oh my God, that’s not your money, is it? Jesus Christ, Dean.”

 

“Shut up,” he hissed. “I’ve been doing this for years, never been caught, relax.”

 

“You just robbed someone.”

 

He shrugged. “You do what you gotta do when you’re poor.”

 

“Yeah, or get a job.” She had no idea why she was accusing him and making him feel bad. She’d probably do the same damn thing if she knew how to get away with it. “You gotta teach me how.”

 

“No fuckin’ way,” he replied, walking her into a store. It was random, she could tell, since it was very _pink_. She never wore pink and she gave him a huge smirk, which made his face blush.

 

“Someone’s gonna ask us if you’re taking your daughter shopping in three... two... one...” she whispered to him, right when a sales lady walked up to them, a huge smile on her face. When she opened her mouth to speak, Dean cut her off.

 

“Wrong store,” he said, grabbing Claire’s shoulder and wheeling her out. She burst into laughter; she laughed so hard there were tears in her eyes and she had to pause to catch her breath. He just continued to sulk and glare.

 

“Look, it was a girl store, how was I supposed to know.” He stammered and blushed. He looked like an adorable puppy.

 

“It’s _okay_ ,” she said as she patted his chest lightly. “C’mon, I saw a store I’d _actually_ shop in the other day.”

 

As soon as she finished the sentence, her hand found his, and it took a moment to process that they were holding hands. In public. It felt naughty, dirty, and she was certain everyone was staring at them. They hadn’t walked four steps before Dean pulled his back and she was left to shove hers in the pockets of her jacket; it was her turn to blush.

 

“Sorry, just... don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” he explained with an apologetic stare.

 

“No, you’re right.” She waved her hand to pretend it didn’t bother her, but it did, and she felt stupid. Dean was too old for her; it was that simple. He was thirty-six, and she was only nineteen. If he’d been sexually active at her age (yeah right, ‘if’, he was _so_ sexually active at her age), he could have been her father. A young father, but still her father. He wasn’t about to hop on her like a young pony.

 

“You have a girlfriend?” she dared to ask. It didn’t really make sense to ask him, since if he did, he probably would have mentioned it by now. Not to mention, a man with a girlfriend did not escort strange, young women across the country.

 

“Me?” Dean snorted and laughed. “Nah. Pretty sure I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was in middle school.”

 

“Wow, drifter to the core, huh?” She looked over at him, honestly curious to know if he was truly a drifter, or just a lonely man desperately seeking someone to stick around.

 

He shrugged and didn’t answer. They came upon the clothing store of choice and she even got the door for him, which made him roll his eyes, but he walked in anyway. She smirked and sidled in after him, her eyes roaming every bit of black and revealing clothing. She’d always been a little edgy with her wardrobe; well, not _always_.

 

When her father had been around and her mother hadn’t gone off the deep end, she’d been the perfect little Christian girl. With those two things out of her life, she expressed her anger with clothing and makeup. From the look on Dean’s face, she could tell he was uncomfortable, but she walked over to a rack of sale items anyway.

 

“God, it’s like an emo kid threw up his closet in here,” Dean muttered, which only garnered him a glare from a group of alternative kids. He quickly turned to face her instead. “Seriously, you are too old to be in here.”

 

“Says the ancient man,” she replied, holding up a long tank top that could have easily been a skimpy dress on her.

 

“Too short,” he said automatically, like he was secretly trained to be a dad.

 

“Okay, _Dad_.” When he blushed, she had to bite back a bark of laughter, but she slid the garment over her arm to try on, skimming her fingers along the rest of the pieces on sale.

 

“I’m being stared at,” Dean hissed.

 

Claire looked up at him and winked. “You care what about teenagers think about you? That’s kinda cute.”

 

“Shut up, it’s weird.”

 

“You’re an outsider, we don’t like outsiders,” she whispered conspiratorially. He wasn’t amused. “Dean, _relax_ , it’s not like _you_ have to try on the clothes. Just go sit down and be a good Dad.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Your comebacks are _weak_ , Winchester.” This time, she did laugh when he gave her a dark look, turning to pick out more shirts. Her eyes then fell on a mini-skirt made from purple plaid and fishnet. It _was_ so baby-mall-goth, but she picked it up anyway. Tempting Dean was definitely on her top priority list, which still felt stupid, but she only got one life. _May as well enjoy it while it lasts_.

 

Dean had taken up residency in one of the ‘dad chairs’, which made everything way more hilarious. Smiling to herself, Claire walked back to try on the clothes she had picked out. As she changed, her mind wandered to Dean following her back to the room and forcing his way inside with her; the way he’d cover her mouth with his large hand, while the other rucked up her shirt and teased her nipples until she was a whining mess. The way he’d unbutton her jeans and rub her clit so fast she’d see stars in minutes.

 

“Stop it,” she whispered to the room, glaring at her own reflection. “He’s not into you. Stop it.”

 

Claire shuddered and pulled the miniskirt up her legs, staring at her image; it was short, _very_ short. If she bent over there would be no hiding her underwear. Normally, she would have shoved the skirt back where it’d come from, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to feel sexy. Not this time. All of the clothing ended up on the counter in the end and she had a huge smile plastered on as Dean handed over the cash. The best part was that the girl at the register couldn’t decide if they were related or if they were together.

 

“Thanks, Dean,” she said as soon as they were on the sidewalk, her bag in his hand. He had insisted.

 

“Yeah, no problem... Figure I should give you something to do.”

 

“Where now?”

 

“No idea.”

 

They were just walking and with the amount of people on the street, she had to hold onto his jacket so as not to lose him. This time, he didn’t seem to mind keeping in contact. “We could just go for a walk,” she suggested lightly. “Hang out.”

 

“You wanna hang out with an old man like me?” he asked, the slightest bit of bitter aftertaste in his tone.

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“Okay... Let’s drop this off at the hotel and we can go for a walk, I guess.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

xxx

 

The park had children playing in it, which shouldn’t have been so weird since it was a _park_ , but Claire remembered the parks from her childhood. They were always abandoned, forgotten things. They were sitting on a bench together, the walk forgotten. Speaking had become so scarce, she wondered if they had both perhaps swallowed their tongues.

 

She decided to shatter the silence. “Dean.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“What happened to your brother?”

 

Dean took in a sharp breath through his nose and sat back, his hands hiding in the pockets of his coat. He stared straight ahead, his jaw set. “He died.”

 

“I know, you told me that, I meant what happened to him? How did he die?” she asked, sitting back with him, turning so she was facing him completely, her elbow resting along the back of the bench to rest her face against her palm.

 

“He was on his way back to Stanford, that’s where he went for college, and he got hit by a semi truck,” he said, his voice bitter and rough. She jumped when he smacked his hands together. “Head on.”

 

“Oh my gosh, that’s _awful_. How the hell does that even _happen_?” She wanted to hold his hand, to wrap her arms around him, comfort him. She wanted to protect him.

 

Dean shrugged a little. “They speculated that the driver had swerved to miss a deer and My brother had been coming up over the hill and they just slammed right into one another. He was killed on impact, supposedly he died instantly.”

 

The threat of tears wrecked his voice and she had to reach over to touch his arm, leaning into him. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

 

He shook his head and angrily brushed at his eyes. “It’s stupid.”

 

“It’s _not_.”

 

“Happened ten fucking years ago, you’d think I’d be over it, but I’m not.”

 

“Is that what you dream about?” she whispered. “Your brother?”

 

“Yeah... we didn’t exactly part on good terms that night-.” He cut off, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaning forward so much he was practically bowed in half. “I told him I hated him because he chose school over me... I fucking told him I _hated_ him and I never got a fucking chance to apologize.”

 

Tears filled her eyes as she saw his pain. The way he curled up in on himself, the vulnerability he was willing to show her. It made Claire want to help him more.

 

“He knew,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking, “he knew you loved him and that you didn’t mean it.” His shoulders were shaking and she pressed her hand onto his back, slowly sliding it down so she could work her way under his jacket, willing to touch him almost skin to skin in order to comfort him.

 

No one paid attention to them, which Claire was thankful for, as Dean continued his small breakdown. It wasn’t anyone’s business anyway; it wasn’t even really _her_ business, she realized sadly. If she hadn’t asked about his brother, they would be in the mess they were in, but she was glad he’d told her. It showed how much trust he placed in her.

 

“What was your brother’s name?” she asked once he relaxed enough to sit up and wipe his face.

 

“Sam.”

 

“Sam loved you and you loved him... and he knew that.” Even though he had sat up, she kept her hand on his back, underneath his jacket, rubbing in small circles.

 

“I just feel so fucking guilty,” he whispered, staring up at sky then. “I just want to rewind the last ten years and apologize before he walked out the door.”

 

“Sometimes, life doesn’t give us those chances because the other person wasn’t ready to hear it,” she said. The words were not just for him; they were for her too. And her father.

 

He turned to look at her, his eyes wider than before, as if he had just seen a ghost, and maybe he had. “Who are you, Buddha?” She laughed and he smiled, just a little, but it was enough.

 

“Dean, I’m glad you told me.”

 

He nodded. “It felt... good, I guess,” he muttered. “Cathartic... and now I don’t feel like I’m hiding some big, ugly ass secret anymore.”

 

She leaned against him and it warmed her heart when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders with a light squeeze. He smelled _good_ ; and it was frustrating as hell, but she shoved those thoughts away, only wanting to concentrate on him and how she would protect him at all costs.

 

And how, she knew, he’d return the favor.

 

xxx

Dean was out getting the car.

 

She was lying on the bed in the new miniskirt and a lowcut black shirt. Nothing else. No bra. No panties. Her hands were rubbing her smooth thighs and skirting between them to spread herself. She gasped and shut her eyes.

 

The night previous she and Dean had almost touched inappropriately.

 

It hadn’t been his fault. They had been watching TV, on the same bed because he was still so sad. They had cuddled, which was probably the first warning going off in her brain; she didn’t _cuddle_ people, but goddamn she would cuddle Dean Winchester.

 

They had somehow landed on a gameshow that they were both... _into_. She had rooted for one team, him the other. That was how they had both ended up wildly gesticulating on the bed, screaming at the TV, at each other. Along the line, his hand had ended up between her legs as he had sat forward to yell some more. He hadn’t even noticed where he’d placed his palm, but her eyes had fallen down and _stared_.

 

One more shift and he could have been touching her.

 

It had taken every bit of self restraint to not press her hips against his hand and wrist. But then, he had shifted again and everything had returned to normal. Except it hadn’t. Now her mind was in overdrive, thinking on Dean, wondering what he would feel like inside of her. How big he was or wasn’t. How much enjoyed giving oral - she _loved_ oral. Giving and receiving.

 

Dean seemed like the kind of man to appreciate oral more than anything else. Another pleased sigh escaped as she rubbed her clit slowly, her legs spreading wide. She wanted Dean to come back, to catch her in the act. She wanted him to join her, to finish her off.

 

Pleased sighs and moans filled her eyes as she shut her eyes and imagined Dean’s tongue lapping her up. He would eat her out with real abandon; she could tell he would love every second of it. Breathing growing more labored, Claire slid two fingers inside and began to pump them fast. She was already so close that she sat up on her elbows and whined, whimpering pathetically.

 

He turned her on _way_ too much.

 

It wasn’t until she heard him unlocking the door that she stopped, snapping her legs shut and yanking her hand away, orgasm ruined. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out as she came too soon, her eyes wide and face flushed as Dean walked through the door. He gave pause, looking confused by the scene on the bed.

 

“...Um... Should I... step out?” he asked. Of course he knew what she’d been doing. He wasn’t one of those morons who believed women didn’t masturbate.

 

“No,” she gasped, subtly wiping her fingers along the blanket and sitting up. “I’m fine.”

 

“If you say so... Um, car’s ready... Do you want go or-?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He nodded and then he turned and left again as quickly as he’d returned. She groaned and fell back on the bed in annoyance. Chickening out had not been the plan, but maybe she still saw him as just a friend. Were they friends? They had definitely shared enough private information to _be_ friends, even if they’d only known each other for two weeks.

 

“Calm down, Claire. Two weeks. You’ve known him two weeks, not two years. Stop trying to fuck him.” The pep talk helped calm her nerves as she got up and changed clothes entirely, stuffing the skirt to the bottom of her bag. She was back to ripped jeans, t-shirts, and black hoodies. If she covered up her body, he didn’t have to feel tempted by it, and she didn’t have to feel as if she were being a slutty temptress.

 

She glanced back at the room once before leaving. It was clean, only with her bed rumpled, but they were good guests. He waited in the lobby for her, just like before, looking lost and uncomfortable. Maybe an apology was necessary. Again.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

“Yeah... Hey, Dean...”

 

“Yeah?” He took her bag and stuffed it in the trunk, not looking her in the eye.

 

“I’m sorry...”

 

“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” His tone was clipped as if he were honestly annoyed. That made fear sink into her chest, but she nodded, and climbed into the car beside him.

 

The ride was awkward; it wouldn't have been so bad if he’d simply turn on the radio. Add some noise. Something. But he was content to drive in silence, so she turned from him to stare out the window, yanking her hood down over her head. He’d probably take her to the nearest bus stop and drop her off, having had enough of her antics. It hurt. The idea of him abandoning her.

 

He would leave, just like her father. Just like _everyone else_ in her life. He’d slip away and she’d never hear from him again. The thought brought tears to her eyes and she hugged her middle, closing her eyes so tightly it made her head swim. They continued to say nothing.

 

xxx

 

The next hotel was not as nearly as nice as the other.

 

In fact, it was downright _awful_ , but she supposed this was what he was used to. Not to mention the other had probably bled him dry, but he was so tired, she could tell he needed to sleep. They’d driven for twelve hours without stopping; only to pee and eat. As soon as they were in the room, he was on top of the bed, face first, and out like a light.

 

She moved around the room slowly, first taking a shower, which was awful. The shower itself was covered in mold and there were cracks in the floor. It felt as if it were about to collapse under her meager weight. The water was cold and the pressure was a weak spattering. Was this punishment for trying to get him in bed? Did he know?

 

More tears filled her eyes as she dried off and redressed, not wanting to sleep in anything less than jeans and a t-shirt. She’d even wear her jacket if that would make him feel better, but he was snoring away when she came back into the room, stuffing her wet hair up into the hood as she pulled it overhead.

 

Now it was just a waiting game. When would he leave? Would he take off and leave her here in the morning or would he at least take her to a greyhound station with the last of his cash? Claire huddled on the bed and bit her lip, trying not to cry.

 

While at the other hotel, she hadn’t had as many nightmares. It had been a miracle. But now she was so afraid to have one, she was doing her best to stay awake. Even going so far as to pinch and yank at her skin and hair. Crying was easier when she knew he was asleep, so she did; she cried and clawed at her face and arms, fighting weariness in vain. It was like going to war against an enemy that was almost right there. The enemy had more guns and weapons and she had her hands. There was no fighting it.

 

xxx

 

_It isn’t her father at the end of the sidewalk._

 

_The bowlegged silhouette belongs to Dean Winchester. His jacket so familiar. Calling his name, Claire starts to walk toward him, but he’s walking away. She calls his name again, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even cast her his devilish grin._

 

 

_He ignores her._

 

_She starts to run, watching in horror as the sidewalk grew longer on its own accord. Catching up to him is impossible and she knows it, but she runs as hard as possible anyway. Heart pounding and body sweating, Claire reaches out to him. It’s then she realizes she_ is _getting closer. He’s stopped and she’s about to run into him._

 

_She lunges, reaching to latch onto his jacket, but with one step, he’s out of her grasp. She falls onto her face, smacking her jaw against the concrete so hard she feels her teeth rattle._

 

_“Dean,” she sobs, trying to pull at his jeans. He starts to walk again. He never turns around. He never looks at her and she keeps crying, begging him to come back._

 

_She can’t take anymore rejection. She can’t take anymore people leaving her for dry. But he slips away and doesn’t come back._

 

xxx

 

Then, Claire woke up sobbing.

 

The nightmare continued to linger and Claire looked over at Dean, to see if he was still there. He was; he was also starting to sit up, looking around blearily. She could only continue to sob, turning away from him. Even though he hadn’t left her yet, it felt the same.

 

“Claire?” he asked, his voice still on the edge of sleep. She could only answer with tears, and then he was there, leaping over to touch her shoulder, trying to wrap her up in his arms. “Claire, talk to me.”

 

“You _left_ ,” she sobbed the accusation.

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t leave me, Dean. Please, don’t leave me.” Her voice was broken and wrecked; she could hardly understand herself, but she kept babbling to him anyway. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. My dad, my mom, everyone else, please don’t go.”

 

Dean’s grip tightened around her and she felt his lips press against her forehead. He was so kind, so gentle, and when he spoke, she could hear his sincerity, “I am not going anywhere. I won’t leave you, Claire.”

 

“You promise?” she asked shakily.

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

She almost asked him to seal the deal with a kiss, to make it real, but she just kept crying and snotting all over his shirt. Bless his heart, he didn’t comment on it, he just kept his arms around her, pressing his lips to her hair now again. God, he’d make a good father. Which wasn’t exactly how she wanted to see him, but at the same time, she liked that she finally had a man she could look up to.

 

Eventually, the sobs subsided, and the sniffling started to waver. Dean continued to hold her and she clutched at his shirt in return, not wanting to let go.

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, even though she knew it sounded insane.

 

“You aren’t losing me. I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, rubbing her back now. “You’ll have to tell me to fuck off in six different languages before I take off.”

 

That made her laugh. “I’m _so_ sorry for being crazy.”

 

“Claire, you’re not crazy... You’re... hormonal.” He said it slowly, unsure of how to justify the statement. Coming from someone else, she would have been pissed, but when he said it, it was almost funny. Mainly because he was fucking right.

 

“Yeah, I know...” Perhaps, Mother Nature was preparing to make a phone call. She sighed and pressed into him gentler than before, shutting her eyes and breathing in his smell. “Stay here?”

 

“Stay...?”

 

“In this bed. Please?”

 

“Claire...”

 

“No funny business, I just don’t want to be alone.” She gripped him tighter. “You’re warm.” His exasperated sigh was enough of an agreement for her to relax into sleep.

 

xxx

“Fuck!”

 

Claire glared down at her underwear in annoyance. She had been right the night before; Mother Nature _had_ arrived, messy and determined. She cursed again, trying to stuff toilet paper into her underwear, since she was lacking tampons at the moment. Why feminine hygiene products cost so damn much was beyond her imagination.

 

A knock on the door alerted her Dean was awake. “Claire?”

 

“Just a sec,” she replied, feeling her heart beat a little faster. No wonder she was so damn horny and frustrated. Maybe PMS had made her want to jump on Dean’s dick and not Dean himself. Maybe it would be over by next week and she wouldn’t feel a damn thing for him.

 

_Yeah right_.

 

Rolling her eyes, Claire yanked up her clothes, shuddering at the icky feeling between her thighs, before flushing and cleaning up. Dean was standing on the other side of the door, looking concerned as ever when she opened it. “I’m fine,” she said before he could ask her what was wrong.

 

“You were yelling,” he countered, following her over to the bed where she sat down so slowly she could practically hear her joints creak. The agonizing pain in her stomach was starting and she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not having a good morning, okay?” she snapped.

 

His eyes widened and he physically took a step back. “Um... Is it... um...” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking so embarrassed it was almost comical. “Is it the... the...”

 

“The what?”

 

“The period thing? The thing- with the... blood and... stuff.”

 

Why did periods make all men turn into idiots? She shook her head over so slightly to herself before nodding. “Yeah, it is. It sucks, okay?”

 

“We can... stay here for a bit- I mean if you don’t want to go on the road,” he said, sitting down on his bed and clasping his hands together.

 

“You just don’t want me making a mess on your car’s seats.” From the look of revulsion on his face he hadn’t _actually_ thought of that, but now he was, and it was not something he wanted to think about. “Yeah, exactly.”

 

Dean cleared his face after a moment, looking at her shyly afterward. “Can I get you anything? I could... go to the store or something.”

 

It was nice of him to still want to try and be helpful, even after all of the shit she put him through. “That’d be nice,” she whispered, grasping to hold a pillow to her stomach. “I need tampons, first of all, because toilet paper won’t cut it, especially not this cheap shit.”

 

Dean’s face turned red but he nodded. “Okay. What else?”

 

“Um, Tylenol or something. My cramps get... really bad. And um... chocolate would be _fantastic_.” _And porn_ , but she didn’t feel as if he needed to know _that_.

 

“Okay. I’ll be back.” Dean stood and patted her on the shoulder, awkwardly, before walking out the door. She burst into laughter once he was gone, but then the pain throbbed and she groaned, flopping over onto her side instead.

 

xxx

 

Dean called her in a panic twenty minutes later. “Why are there so many?” Dean hissed, as if he were afraid to speak normally.

 

“What?” She frowned, sitting up with a wince. Why did her body have to hate her so damn much?

 

“The... lady products. Why are there so damn many? They’re all in... pink boxes and... they got butterflies and shit on ‘em. You sure this is the kind you want? Shouldn’t you want a box with... skulls and... broken hearts or something?”

 

“Very funny,” she replied dryly. “Whatever you do, do _not_ get the cardboard ones, I will shove them _up_ your ass.”

 

“Okay. Not the cardboard ones- why the hell are there cardboard ones?”

 

She shut her eyes, trying to imagine Dean - manly, leather jacket, solid, macho as hell - standing in a tampon aisle. It was really, _really_ amusing. “If you can afford them, Playtex _Sport_ are my favorite.”

 

“Okay-.” Dean trailed off and she could hear him walking up and down the aisle. She smiled some more, biting her lip, and twirling her hair playfully. It was cute, the way he was trying to be a good guy. “Oh, there- okay, um, Jesus why are they so expensive?”

 

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” she replied angrily. “They should be _free_ , but _noo_ , can’t let that happen. We women will get the wrong ideas, revolt, and run away to an island and banish men forever.”

 

“That- that was sarcasm, correct?”

 

She laughed. “ _Yes_ , Dean. Thanks for doing this, by the way. It’s sweet of you.”

 

“Yeah, well, I gotta... be helpful somehow,” he muttered, embarrassed from the sound of his tone.

 

“Thanks, Dean.”

 

“Yeah- um, so the tampons, got those. You said, chocolate, and Tylenol. Anything else?” The sound of an object dropping into the cart and then a squeaky wheel filled her ears as he began to walk again.

 

“Um, no, that’s it. That’s good.”

 

“You _sure_?”

 

“Yeah, but you may have to go out later if I think of something.”

 

Dean hefted a sigh and she blushed. “Okay.”

 

“Sorry,” she whispered, biting her lip, trying to swallow back taers. He didn’t need to hear her crying at the drop of a hat.

 

“It’s okay. Be home soon-.” Dean cut off and then hung up. It made her blink in surprise, his words ringing in her ears.

 

_Be home soon._

 

It sounded so _domestic_. It was also nice to hear him say something like that; something so... _un_ -Dean like. He didn’t come off as a ‘settle down, have 2.5 kids, get a dog’ kind of guy, but hearing him being domestic was... really nice. It made her smile and butterflies filled her stomach, even though she knew he was probably embarrassed. He’d apologize and she’d tell him it was no big deal. But it was and they both knew it.

 

xxx

 

Dean returned with barely a word, handing the bag over and then he was preparing to leave again. She frowned, watching him move around the room, swiftly picking up things here and there. Where was _he_ going?

 

“You’re leaving?” she asked, even as she stood up carefully, prepared to go to the bathroom and clean up. She flinched at the ooze. It made her shudder.

 

“I’l be back,” he replied quickly. He didn’t look her in the eye when he left, so Claire sighed and hurried to take another shower (still terrible), and finally put in a tampon. It was like Heaven’s gates had opened and she had been shown the light.

 

“ _Thank you_ , God,” she whispered, putting on a fresh pair of underwear. _Should have had him buy you a new cheap pack. Not that that would have helped his embarrassment much_.

 

The hotel was too quiet without him there; it felt so empty. Desolate. Sad. Even though he was an awkward guy, Dean made a place warmer; he made it _better_. Even the shittiest hotel could feel decent with him in it, which sounded cheesy as hell in her brain, but it was there.

 

_You’re falling in love with him. Stop._

 

 

She’d admitted it. She was falling in love with Dean Winchester. He made her smile, he made her laugh, and he made all of those stupid warm fuzzies fill her chest and heart each time he made a kind gesture. She was crashing, falling so fast for him, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t end well. He was a drifter. She was too. They were not meant to come together and make something beautiful.

 

_And why not? Why_ not _? Why can’t two people come together and love each other? Help one another? Heal one another? He’s a broken man and you’re just as bad. You need each other._

 

Claire took a deep and shaking breath, glancing over at his bed. She should call him, ask him to come back, tell him the truth. She was tired of sitting on the truth like a pile of steaming, gross secrets. The thought of him rejecting her kept her from reaching for the phone, though. He could walk away for good if he thought she was growing too attached. It wasn’t as if they were meant to be long term. He was just escorting her to L.A.

 

That was all.

 

Claire sighed and began to pack up her stuff. Maybe it would be easier on them both if she left. She could get herself the rest of the way to L.A. and he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. The cramps flared and made her hips ache, but she swallowed the pain, and shoved all of her stuff into her bag. She would have to go to the nearest thrift store and do some five-finger dealing. New clothes were a necessity with hers being so threadbare.

 

Claire picked up her phone and took a deep breath, deciding to text Dean instead.

 

- _thanks for the help dean i’m sorry i ruined your “drifter guy code” maybe we’ll meet up sometime? i hope so_

 

Bag over her shoulder, Claire made her way out the front door and out into the parking lot. She stopped by the front desk to get a general direction toward L.A. and then she was on her own again.

 

 


End file.
